


he still lingers in the dark

by CRIMSONBRUXA (orphan_account)



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Dream Sharing, M/M, Pining/Longing, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/CRIMSONBRUXA
Summary: Their shared dreams return, and they feel more real and raw and violent than ever. Peter thinks it's a prophecy, but Roman's not so sure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hemlock Grove attempt. These two absolutely kill me. Title taken from XOV's "Lucifer." This takes place at some point during season two. It's a little canon compliant/a little canon divergent, I'll admit. It's whatever works for you.
> 
> Dedicated to my friend Val who actually suggested the song I used in the title ages ago <3
> 
> Also, be forewarned, this kind of got away from me and got super metaphorical. Not to be That Way, but a lot of the imagery was purposeful. All mistakes are my own.

He knows it's a dream.

The boy is drenched in red, bathed by the light of the full moon, calling to him by name. It takes him a minute to realize that his naked skin is covered in blood, his hands and feet caked with dried dirt. His dark hair is matted to his face with sweat.

He is paler than usual, and looks like death, and Roman can’t tell if it’s because of the moon or something else.   
He can't put his finger on it, but for some reason, there's a knot in his gut, an emptiness that Roman can't explain. He thinks he's going to be sick.

He moves closer toward Peter, and the the emptiness begins to subside, only to be replaced with a feeling Roman definitely recognizes, but can’t identify. It’s neither bad nor good, he decides.

They stand there in silence, face-to-face beneath the glow of the moon. He doesn’t know where they are, exactly; probably somewhere near the graveyard, if he had to guess. The earth beneath them smells of fresh rainfall, but it doesn’t mask the distant scent of death.

Roman doesn’t like this.

He reaches out to Peter first, placing his right hand over the boy’s chest and feels his heart beating there - so he must be still alive. His skin is warm beneath his touch - probably  _ too _ hot, but what would Roman know about that?

Their eyes lock, and the sickly feeling returns, only this time, he feels sick with longing.

He hates this, the way that Peter makes him feel. There is a sense of belonging he has never even felt among his own family, his own fucking  _ kind _ ; a sense of himself he’s never found in anyone else.

All he’s ever known are endings, disappointments; left to piece himself back together after the death of his father, heart hardening and cracking beneath the ice that is his mother.

After so long, he’s grown numb to the cold. It’s the only way he survives. And when he looks at Peter, all he sees is fire. When he touches him, all there is, is heat.

And when this is over - whatever the fuck _ this _ is - Roman doesn’t think he’ll be able to figure out where any of the pieces go. Because it all has to end. At some point, at some time. People are creatures of habit, and Peter is more person than beast. 

Peter’s hand reaches up and rests on top of Roman’s. Not so much as an audible breath passes between them.

There’s a brief moment where Roman wants to close the space between them, but he doesn’t act on it.

He drops his hand then and steps away from Roman, who can’t help but watch in anticipation of what he’ll do next.   
A blink and suddenly the boy is his wolf. No gory, grueling transformation. Just barely a man one moment, and an animal the next.   
The wolf snarls and for some reason, Roman understands. It somehow sounds like his name.   
Fear has never been an easy emotion for Roman to decipher, and he's never felt something as intense or debilitating as the dread vibrating through his body.   
Nothing.   
And after what he’s been through, that's saying a lot.   
"Roman," the wolf growls again, his eyes glowing through the dark. "Roman. Wake up."   
He knows it’s a dream, because he opens his eyes and he's in his own bed, cloaked in darkness, and he's thankful. There's a light from the hall creeping in through the crack of his open door.   
Peter is seated at the edge of his bed, leaning toward him, one hand placed on his pillow.   
Roman grunts, shutting his eyes again. "What do you want?"   
The other boy wastes no time. "Did you just...," there's hesitancy in his voice, "you know, dream?"   
Jesus fuck. This is really happening again.

Roman sits up in his bed and reaches for the light on his bedside table.

“You did,” Peter answers for him. “You did. I knew it. I felt it.” He pauses. “I felt you there.”

“So,” is all Roman manages to say. His throat is dry and the sick feeling manifests itself in his gut, making it difficult for him to concentrate.

“So? What do you mean, ‘so?,” Peter questions. “Get up and get dressed.”

“Why?”

“We're gonna go figure out what the hell that dream was trying to tell us.”

In a lot of ways he’s not equipped to confront right now, Roman feels like he knows what the dream was trying to tell them. He still, in some way, needs Peter. For what, he’s not so sure. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” Peter repeats his words firmly.

In all of his life, Roman has never known someone as unsure as Peter Rumancek - save for maybe himself, but at least he is aware of his own self-doubt. So he can’t help but be taken aback by this. He watches the boy with peculiar astonishment; he moves with a certainty that almost makes him feel certain too.

He lifts himself from his bed and slips on a pair of jeans and then a black sweater, following Peter out into the hall.

Peter heads directly for the stairs, but Roman unlocks and pops his head into Nadia’s room to ensure that she was alright and still under supervision for the night. When he sees that she is safe, he heads downstairs to meet Peter at the door.

“We go to the graveyard,” Peter tells him.

He obliges without protest, and wonders to himself how Peter is so sure they were in the graveyard.

There isn't much he wouldn't do for Peter, he thinks, and he hates himself a little for it.

He will be the first to admit that his fixation on Peter is a little... illogical. But there is so much about life he’s beginning to realize that has little, or nothing, to do with logic anyway. 

Reason is bullshit. The more he tries to understand anything, the less he finds he wants to. Nothing about his own existence even makes any sense.

The two find themselves standing in the graveyard beneath the light of the moon - not full like in their dream; whatever happened then must not be happening tonight, if at all.

“So?” Roman shrugs. “What now?”

“We were right here,” Peter recalls, his blue eyes searching the ground as though his memories are scattered in the dirt. “Well, you were. At first. I was over there.”

“Yeah,” Roman speaks, mostly to fill the silence.

“What do you remember?” he asks him, brushing his hair from in front of his face.

He is silent for a moment, and responds flatly, as though he’s recounting a part of his daily routine. “The moon was full. You were… all bloody and dirty and shit. Then you turned into a wolf.”

Peter is silent for a beat. “That's all you remember?”

“Why? Was there more?” Roman challenges.

Peter doesn't answer him; he shrugs his shoulders and looks off into the distance and appears to be in deep thought.

Figures as much. The day Peter Rumancek acknowledges any kind of intimacy or emotion is the same goddamn day Olivia Godfrey smiles at a child, or something.

“Peter, what the hell is going on?”

“I think I…,” the other boy gathers himself, looks Roman in the eye. He exhales hastily. “I don’t know.”

“That is pretty fucking evident. What are we doing here?”

“I thought I’d know once we got here but…” their blue eyes lock again, and Peter visibly struggles to finish his thought. “Guess not.”

He hates the way he still feels compelled to reach out and touch him, this oblivious, self-deprecating, disaster of a man.

He wonders what that must make him.

Peter licks his lips, drawing Roman’s attention there. They’re standing so close, Roman can feel the heat emanating from Peter’s body. 

He can feel that buzzing, that sickening longing - and something like regret? - vibrate throughout his body again. Only this time he can't tell himself that it’s just a dream ( _ was it ever just a dream? _ ).

“I’m going back to bed, Peter,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets while turning to walk away. “It’s too fucking early for this mind-fuck shit.”

Just as he begins to walk away, however, he feels Peter’s hand wrap around his arm.

When he turns to meet the boy’s eyes, he notices something in them. He is looking at him differently.

Like it’s clicked, finally. Like he’s realizing what Roman already knows.

Peter steps toward him this time, though he’s careful not to stand too close, and they stay like this for a moment that weighs on him. Roman can’t read his eyes anymore, but there’s something else there now, too.

The brunette steps away from him just as suddenly as he pulled himself close, breaking their gaze.

He coughs. Roman thinks it sounds fake. “It is late,” he agrees what feels like an eternity later. “Let’s just… go home. We can figure this out later.”

They walk to the car in silence, stepping in stride with one another. Peter’s words still linger in Roman’s mind.

_ We can figure this out later. _

He’s not sure they ever will.


End file.
